


A Pair Of Brown Eyes

by starstruck1986



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-11
Updated: 2015-06-11
Packaged: 2018-04-01 13:08:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4020961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starstruck1986/pseuds/starstruck1986
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ron goes to Romania for peace. Charlie receives him with love.  Ron leaves <i>in love</i> with a person he should never, ever have touched.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Pair Of Brown Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> **Warning(s):** Language, incest, angst, suicidal thoughts / attempt.
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
> 
>  **Notes:** Thanks to my beta, S. Sorry to the prompter that I went way off course – you listed heavy angst as a squick. I tried, I really did... but these boys needed to go elsewhere. My apologies, but thanks for the inspiration!  <3

“ _As the winter winds litter London with lonely hearts_  
_Oh the warmth in your eyes swept me into your arms_  
_Was it love or fear of the cold that led us through the night?_  
_For every kiss your beauty trumped my doubt_

_And my head told my heart_  
_"Let love grow"_  
_But my heart told my head_  
_"This time no_.” ~ Winter Winds, Mumford  & Sons

* * *

**Ron**

“Are you mad?”

Ron shifted the rucksack on his back and looked down at his feet. “The jury’s out on that one.”

Charlie looked at him with blatant derision. “Do you know how cold it was last night here?”  
“Charlie.”  
“I nearly froze my bollocks off.”  
“I don’t care.”

Somewhere in his gut Ron found the courage to look up and meet Charlie’s gaze. He forced everything he was too cowardly to say into his stare.

“You daft sod,” Charlie muttered finally and unfolded his arms. 

It was unusual to see him so heavily dressed. He wore lined gloves and a thick coat, his mad hair picked up by the wind. 

“Are you wearing _three_ scarves?” Ron made a face.  
“ _That’s_ how cold it’s been. It’s December.”

Ron felt woefully underdressed and the wind was biting straight through his winter coat and jumper.

“Well, you’d best come the fuck in then, hadn’t you?” Charlie stepped back and nodded to the wizard sitting on sentry duty at the reserve gates to open them fully. “A little warning would have been nice, by the way.”  
“I didn’t really have time.”

Ron followed as Charlie started back up the frozen mud path which led into the reserve. He didn’t say it, but he’d not even bothered to think about letting Charlie know he was planning on visiting. He was sure his brother would have talked him out of it and then there would have been nothing for it – he would have had a complete meltdown if he had to spend a single second more in London.

Pulling his coat tighter around him, Ron hurried his pace to match Charlie’s.

“It’ll snow again soon. We’re so busy at the minute, a nursing mother and an ill Fireball. I’ll have to get back to work like… shit, five minutes ago.” Charlie turned to him wearing an apologetic expression. “You can wait in my cabin for a bit. My roommate is on holiday at the minute, so it’ll just be us, but you’ll have to kip with me else it’s the floor or the tiny old sofa.”

“That’s fine,” Ron said, not really thinking about it.

“I don’t smell.” Charlie nudged into him with his shoulder. “Well, I do. I smell about eighty per cent of the time. But for your benefit I’ll have a shower when I clock off for the night. If I can bear to take my clothes off to do it.”  
“Don’t make extra effort on my account. You won’t know I’m here, I promise.”  
“You’ll get bored quickly. There’s nothing to do here which isn’t dragon related.”  
“I don’t mind. I was kind of hoping… if I could turn my hand to something… I don’t need paying. Just something to do.”

Charlie let them climb to the top of the incline in the path before he spoke again, his breath racing from his mouth in clouds on account of the temperature. “Ron. You’ve got a perfectly good job back in London which is warm and doesn’t require you to wear three layers just to piss in the morning. I don’t understand why you’re here.”

“I wanted to visit you?” Ron said blandly.  
“Cut the bollocks. What’s going on?”

Ron took some deep breaths right down into the depths of his lungs, which made him choke on the cold air. His eyes were watering by the time he put a hold on it. Charlie just stared at him and waited for him to finish.

“Can we do this later?” Ron asked finally, wiping the back of his hand over his eyes. “You’ve got to get back to work and I…”

Charlie waited with raised eyebrows.

“I don’t even know where to start.” Ron shrugged helplessly.  
“All right. Come on.”

***  
Ron had to give it to Charlie. He’d not believed him when he’d said there was _nothing_ to do in his cabin, but there really wasn’t. The idea of living in such bald, lifeless surroundings usually would have bothered him. But Ron was too numb to care. Half of it was the cold and the other half was of his mind’s final depletion of energy to be able to think of anything.

He’d spent two days locked in a spare room at Harry’s before the need to escape – to be somewhere so completely untainted by the past and his mistakes – hit hard. And where else could he have gone? If he’d taken off to the unknown his family would have staged a riot. At least by saying that he was visiting Charlie there was a plausible reason – albeit not one he’d bothered to take up in the ten years that had lapsed since the war.

The cabin was simple. One kitchen, two bedrooms, a tiny communal room with a sofa and a smaller bathroom. It was perfectly functional and, from what Ron could see, quite comfortable. It wasn’t a space to be really lived in, however. He supposed that Charlie didn’t get much time to relax. His brother’s bedroom was the only part of the small building that he found some colour and natural warmth. There was a Molly Weasley crocheted blanket on the bed, atop many other layers, and there were photographs of family and friends waving energetically on the walls. There were piles of old Quidditch magazines and dog-eared books lining the skirting boards. And then, because it was Charlie, there was a packet of cigarettes on the tiny stand next to the bed and a pile of filthy clothes on the floor next to the door. Ron picked his way over to perch on the edge of the mattress. Reluctantly he pulled his hands from his armpits and flexed his fingers. Charlie had been at work for hours and darkness had fallen outside the windows.

The bedroom was so small that Ron could reach out and pull the curtains closed without getting up. He lit some of the candles. He’d spent a good deal of time asleep and had an aching neck and back to show for it, having curled up on the communal sofa which smelt vaguely of smoke. He’d woken at five, made a cup of tea and been drifting from room to room ever since. The locked door belonging to Charlie’s roommate had started to infuriate him. 

Ron ran his fingers over the packet of cigarettes and the lighter next to it. A letter caught his eye, ripped open and badly stuffed back inside the envelope. He recognised Bill’s writing. Unable to help himself, he eased the parchment out and held it up to the light to read it.

“ _I mean, I’ve told Perce he should just go for it if that’s what he wants to do, but for fuck’s sake, he’s doing my head in. I need you to come back and give him a kick up the backside – you were always better at that than I was. With him, anyway. I’m perfectly capable of kicking yours._

Smiling to himself, Ron shifted slightly to ease the soreness in his spine.

“ _George is doing well still. I think it’s really helping him, being with Angelina. I know we all had our doubts but I’ll hold my hands up and say that he looks like himself again. Like he’s not dead inside. That can only be a good thing, right?_ ”

Realising he’d stumbled upon a family catch-up, Ron expected to see his own name next. But there was a pang of hurt when Bill skipped right over him to Ginny.

“ _Gin’s pregnancy seems to be going on forever. She’s huge (there will be large amounts of pain administered if you ever repeat that) and eating Harry out of house and home. If their marriage survives I’ll be fucking stunned. I won’t be surprised if Harry ends up moving in with mum and dad to escape Gin’s wrath. She shouted at me the other day for finding the curry she’d made too hot. My eyes were streaming. I think she did it on purpose just to have a good yell. (Every day, she becomes more like mum. Same restrictions apply on that statement as above.)”_

Despite his hurt feelings at being missed out, Ron couldn’t help but grin. Ginny was being vile. Harry deserved a medal for putting up with her in his opinion.

“ _Mum and Dad are well, Dad’s semi-retired now. Mum’s glad she didn’t get rid of his shed because he’s spending so much time in it it’s like he’s still at work. I think she’s happy with that because they’re both putting on weight where he keeps asking her to make his favourite cakes. He’s still doing a few hours in the office a week but I think he’s enjoying himself. The garden’s never looked better. He asked Hagrid for some advice and is growing pumpkins bigger than Bess!_

Bess was a particularly stout sheep they’d acquired somewhere along the line to keep the grass in the orchard down. 

“ _And that’s about it. Except for the reason I’m writing, of course. Ron. None of us can get him to open up but something’s not right, Charlie. He’s a shadow of himself, floats around looking half-dead most of the time. He and Hermione barely come to any family stuff anymore. When they do he looks almost terrified._ ”

Ron almost wished his brother hadn’t bothered to mention him. The words left a bad taste in his mouth and made his head ache.

“ _I don’t know if you’ve got time, but if you could come back for a visit, or just write to him… maybe you’ll get something out of him. You’re not here all the time and he might find that better. We’re all so tangled up in each other’s business here it’s unreal. I’m worried. Mum’s beside herself but is somehow keeping her trap shut. Let me know if you think you can help. As always, there’s a bed for you at Shell Cottage so mum doesn’t find out about your drinking, smoking and tattoos._

_Love,_

_Bill._ ”

Charlie had seemed so surprised to see him that Ron thought he had guessed how seriously he’d taken Bill’s letter. Generally, Ron knew he was a moody sod and had been since he’d hit puberty, but he had to admit what had been going on lately had been far beyond a ‘bit of a bad mood’.

Noise from the hallway next to the bedroom made him jump and he hastily rammed the letter back in its envelope. He put it back where he’d found it and tried to wipe his expression clean, unsure of whether he looked guilty, innocent or something completely different.

“All right?” Charlie asked, stomping into the room. He had snow in his hair.  
“Yeah, I’m fine.” Ron turned to him. “Late night?”  
“Normal night.” Charlie grinned to himself an unbuttoned his coat. He used his teeth to tug off a glove. “Actually, I got off a bit earlier because you’re here. I was supposed to be on shift ‘til midnight but someone owes me a favour, so…”

The coat and gloves landed in a heap on the end of the bed. 

“Have you eaten?” Charlie asked, running his fingers through the wild tangle of his hair.  
“I didn’t know whether to wait.” _I wasn’t hungry._  
“Well, I’ve not got much in. D’you fancy a trek to the food hall? It’s pretty grim, but it’s warm and the food’s not bad. Plus they have a nice ale stash which you’d like.”  
“Sure.”  
“Depending on how long you’re here, I’ll have to get some food in. I won’t get away with winging you another free meal after tonight. We ration hard through the winter in case we get cut off. We’re not supposed to use excess magic, it annoys the dragons. Only if we’re really fucked are we cleared to get rid of the snow with magic, and the roads become impassable. We’ve already gone on lockdown once.”

Charlie reached past him for the cigarettes and lit one before sitting down.

“Do you think that you can find something for me to do?”  
“There’s always something to do round here. Like I said, no excess magic – so there’s always wood to chop, potions to brew, manure to shift.”  
“I’ll do it,” Ron said with a shrug. “Anything.”

Charlie stared at him whilst he smoked his cigarette. Ron stared back with an earnestly blank expression.  
“Well. We’ll see. Let’s get some grub, eh?”

***  
“B-bloody f-fucking f-fuck.”

Ron desperately tried to stop his teeth from chattering. He was folded awkwardly on the sofa, his hands tucked tightly under his armpits with three blankets on top of him. He squeezed his eyes shut and hoped that his head would stop spinning.

They’d stayed too long in the food hall. The loud chatter and laughter still rang in his ears, accompanied by the dizzying aftermath of three bottles of ale. They’d turned out to have been of a strength he’d never had before. He’d hoped at least the high proof would keep him warm.

_No fucking chance._

Charlie had offered to share but Ron had felt so grotty that the thought of being close to another human being – even one of his own family – had brought nausea to his belly. The cold had swiftly changed his mind, however.

With a grunt he rolled to sitting and pulled one of the blankets around his back. The cabin was dark and unfriendly. He stubbed his little toe on something he couldn’t see. He used one hand to grope along the walls as he blinked rapidly, trying to get his eyes to adjust. He felt the handle of Charlie’s door before his sight had improved any. There was no light showing from underneath so he didn’t bother knocking.

“Charlie? You awake?”

A half-bothered grunt rose from the bed.

“I’m getting in,” Ron announced, hearing the air of defeat in his tone. “Budge up.”

There was more grunting and some added swearing as Charlie made room for him. Ron took the blanket with him but finally kicked off his boots as he clambered into bed. He was fully dressed. Even the idea of removing clothes made him even colder. Charlie dumped half of the blankets on top of him and Ron released a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

Charlie felt like a furnace compared to him and the bed was beautifully warmed through because of it. Ron closed his eyes and let the tension seep from his body. Charlie shifted next to him, bringing his face closer. 

Hot, boozy breath washed over Ron’s face. He suddenly felt nauseous again.

He forced himself to ignore it.

***  
It took him a good while to remember where he was. His head still hurt, his eyes refused to open but there was noise coming from somewhere. Ron felt like he was floating, comfortable and warm, and had no inclination to change it. There was odd weight pressing into his body in certain places but it was pleasant. Like he was being cuddled.

It took him a good deal of time to realise that in actual fact he _was_ being cuddled, and time even further to realise where he was and just who had to be cuddling him.

“Turn that fucking thing off,” Charlie muttered in his ear.

Ron opened his eyes and blinked at the ceiling. A quick glance down showed an arm flung over his belly, the hand tucked over his hip. Suddenly he could feel every single fingertip pressing into his flesh as though they were burning him. Charlie’s head was tucked into the crook of his neck. Ron would only have had to look to his left and his mouth would have pressed into his brother’s hair.

He also recognised the touch of hot feet to his own. He wiggled his toes and cringed at the sensation. It was all too intimate. He’d come to Romania to get away from anything remotely intimate.

The alarm blared on by Charlie’s side of the bed and he seemed to be content to ignore it. The din made the crashing in Ron’s head worse.

“Turn it off,” he pleaded after a while. Charlie moaned in frustration and clung to him even harder. “Don’t you have to go to work?” Ron tried.

Charlie continued to ignore both him and the alarm and Ron squeezed his eyes shut in frustration.

“Fine,” Charlie said eventually. He rolled backwards and seized the alarm before throwing it with a crash at the opposite wall. “Pissing thing. Fuck OFF!”

He grabbed his pillow and pulled it down over his face.

“Do you always wake up so delightful?” Ron asked. He coughed to clear the huskiness in his throat.  
“Most days.”

There was a rustling and Ron glanced over to see his brother rubbing his crotch. He was no prude, but the thought of Charlie doing that with him lying right next to him sent colour into his cheeks. Much to his horror, it made something in his own groin tingle.

“Uh… should I make breakfast?” he asked, panicked by his body’s reaction.  
“Sure. You’ll need to go for a five mile walk to get something to make it with, but, hey, you go for it.” Charlie laughed to himself from under the pillow. “We can eat at the food hall again. But then we really need to find you something to do else they’ll be charging you rent.”

Ron stretched, and with the aching and popping of his joints he regretted his offer to do anything the reserve needed. At that moment staying in bed and not eating was far preferable to getting bundled up and shovelling dragon dung.

“I don’t need to eat,” he breathed. “I’ll just stay in bed if that’s all right with you?”  
“Knock yourself out. Just don’t get in my way when I come in. I’m on a late shift. I’ll be out until about two in the morning. Think you can survive by yourself until then? I’ll ask around today, see what needs doing. Then if you can really bear to stay here another day, you can do something tomorrow?”

Ron had expected much more of a fight from Charlie about staying in bed all day. He hadn’t even been particularly serious. He wasn’t going to knock permission to be thoroughly lazy, though. He’d never have got that in London – but hadn’t he come to Romania for a break? A rest?

“Thanks,” he said gratefully, and closed his eyes again.

* * *

**Charlie**

The reserve’s medic swore at him and muttered something in a thick Romanian accent. Charlie might have caught it if he’d not been dazed from what had happened. He could already feel the bruises coming out down the right side of his ribcage.

“Was just trying to help.”

One of the more junior handlers had got into trouble with a Short Snout. As the senior duty keeper, Charlie had had no choice but to wade into the fight, which had seen the Junior set on fire and half the dragon’ enclosure with her. It had been going well right up until the end, when the tail of the beast had caught him right in the middle and flung him back against the perimeter fence in a final, parting strop.

The healer was still muttering as he rubbed off the number four on the chalkboard. It had previously said ‘This Reserve has gone 4 days without incident.’ He stabbed the zero into the surface with such force that he splintered the chalk.

“Rest!” the man barked in a rough English accent. “No work for you. No work for you for a week.”  
“You can’t do that!”  
“You want ribs stay broken? A week isn’t enough. But bosses say we have no workers. So a week. Then you grit your teeth and get on with it. I’m out of painkiller. I give you not nearly enough bone protection and repair. You go to sleep. Only thing for it.”

He pulled open the door and pointed out of it. Charlie sighed, wincing at the pain in his chest as he exhaled. Getting to his feet hurt even more. He was out in the snow and the cold air was stinging his face. It was dark and he knew he should pay attention to where he was putting his feet, but his mind was wandering with exhaustion and pain. All he had to do was get back to the cabin.

_Ron._

Charlie felt a pang of guilt that in all the action and resulting pain, he’d forgotten about his little brother holed up in his cabin with nothing to do or eat. He’d been planning to go and stock up on food, despite the five mile hike to get it. That was out of the question now. Ron would have to bring them both food from the hall if he could swindle it. He’d not had the chance to ask about work for his brother, who seemed so pale and tired. So lost.

He was nearly back to his cabin before the snow started to fall properly. In the time it took him to stagger the last few steps, the snowflakes fell faster and thicker, covering the ground without melting.

“Shit.” He whispered the word to himself. The last thing they needed was to be snowed in on top of starving and, on his part, injured.

He let himself into the cabin and closed the door. He rested his forehead on it for a breather. He knew that as soon as he attempted to take his coat and under layers off that his ribs would start screaming. The medics were always stingy with their potion rations, but even more so in lockdown season. 

Eager to get to bed, he forced himself to shuffle along the short hallway to his bedroom. The door was slightly ajar and candles flickered within. Given the late hour, he’d assumed that Ron would be asleep.

When he peered through the crack he saw that Ron was, but he wasn’t still. There was a tell-tale bulge at groin level which was moving. His first reaction was to smirk on seeing someone having a sneaky wank whilst they were asleep. But then, as he heard the smallest of whimpers from Ron’s open mouth, his eyes wouldn’t look away. He leant on the doorframe. Ron writhed slightly on the mattress, causing the blankets to twist around his body.

Charlie didn’t know what compelled him to stand there, but he watched avidly until it was very definitely over, heralded by a beautiful mewl from his brother’s lips and the hand beneath the blankets fell still.

_What the bloody fuck is wrong with me?!_

Charlie blinked several times as his heart rate kicked up several notches. Heat flooded his face.

“Must be the painkillers,” he muttered to himself.

It took a lot of effort to force himself over the threshold of his bedroom.  
***

“Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow.”

Charlie was normally quite good at being stoic. He’d had bad burns and broken bones before. In fact his brothers joked that he took enough injuries for the lot of them, starting from the moment he first climbed the trees in the orchard, through school whereby he’d never been afraid to leap off his broom at ridiculous heights in the name of a Quidditch win and finally to his danger-filled job.

But broken ribs were something else. He’d bruised ribs before. Nothing accounted for the stabbing pain which raced around his torso every time he breathed in and out.

“Fuck.” He hissed the word through his teeth, desperately trying not to wake Ron with his agony. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. FUCK.”

He winced as Ron gave a snort in his sleep and the deep, even breaths which had filled the room broke off.

“Charlie?”  
“I’m sorry,” Charlie muttered, knowing he sounded pathetic. He slumped back the centimetre he’d managed to shift and the pain made his vision swim.

Ron sat up and the bed jostled him. Charlie had no chance of resisting the tears which sprang into being. He clenched his hands into fists which didn’t help.

“I’m going to go and sleep on the sofa, this isn’t fair on you.”  
“You’ll freeze out there.”  
“I’ll nick one of mum’s blankets.”  
“It won’t be enough. Trust me on that.”

He’d been relieved to find out that whilst he was being flung about the reserve three owls had turned up carrying a food parcel, the size of which was astonishing. Inside there had been cakes, pies, freshly preserved vegetables, tea, coffee and sweets and that was only in the top layer. There had also been two newly knitted blankets, made with thick yarn and charmed to retain the heat of the person underneath them. Charlie had to hand to his mum – even though he was miles away, she still knew exactly what he needed and when he needed it. There’d been a note inside; the worry screamed from the parchment without the need for any form of Howler. The amount of kisses at the end had been pointedly excessive.

And so without any effort they no longer needed to seek food or drink, and he was eternally grateful. Ron seemed to have disappeared into himself since Charlie had admitted his injuries. Charlie suspected he felt like he was intruding, but if he was honest, it was _nice_ to have someone to look after him for a change. Ron had made tea and all their meals and Charlie had barely had to move unless nature called. His cabin mate was still on leave. He couldn’t remember when he was due back.

“What time is it?” Ron yawned and shuddered at the cold.  
“Middle of the night I think. Sorry I woke you.”

Ron shrugged his shoulders and said nothing further. Charlie attempted to shift into a more comfortable position and ended up swearing again.

When Ron looked at him, it was clear that he was struggling to deal with the pain, even though it wasn’t him experiencing it. His brow was tense and his eyes were clouded.

“I’m okay.” Charlie wished he’d not gasped the words.

“I…” Ron shook his head and looked down at his legs. “I’m not good with seeing the people I love in pain. Since the war. Reminds me of a time when you couldn’t make anything better.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”  
“Not your fault.”

Charlie winced as Ron suddenly clambered off the bed and pulled his long body up into a stretch which saw his fingers brushing the ceiling.

“Lanky bastard,” Charlie said with very little conviction.  
“Muscly twat,” Ron countered, the ghost of a grin on his lips.  
“Muscly broken twat.”  
“I’ve seen a few of those. Wouldn’t recommend it.”

The laughter caught him by surprise, causing his vision to blur again as pain spiked everywhere as his lungs bounced with mirth. His eyes were streaming by the time he finished.

“Sorry, that was mean,” Ron conceded. “I’ve only seen… like… three.”  
“Stop it.” Charlie was gasping with mixed pain and laughter.  
“And now, I’m pretty much celibate, so I don’t see any twats. Don’t really want to. Too much effort needed.”  
“Cocks are much simpler,” Charlie agreed. “And at least I know how to work them. Never had much luck with cunts, if I’m honest.”  
“Me either. Not any more.”  
“Which one, cunts or cocks?”  
“Both. I’ve tried both on for size and really, I don’t think I have much of a penchant for cunts these days.”

The sudden openness caused the space between them to close. Charlie became unexpectedly very hot.

“I didn’t know that.” He looked up at his little brother and hated the way that he only then seemed to see him for what he was – a fully grown adult, a man who had had lovers, made mistakes, harboured regrets, and had dreams which Charlie didn’t even know about. “Me too. If you didn’t already know that.”

“I knew.” Ron smiled. “It was only knowing which made me make sense of it. Because if you were like it, then it didn’t scare me as much. Because you’ve always been the strongest out of all of us. I thought maybe I could be like that.”  
“You _are_ like that. You’re every bit as strong as me, Ron. And anyway, which of us is lying here crying like a baby?”

Ron’s expression darkened and Charlie wondered what he’d said to cause it. Before he could formulate a question about it, however, his brother bounced to the end of the room and the look had disappeared.

“Tea?”  
“Might as well. I’m not going back to sleep any time soon.”

 

The sky was so heavy with snow that there was barely any difference in the light quality by the time that the sun should have been in the sky. Ron was napping with his head tucked into the crook of his elbow whilst Charlie tried to read one of the Quidditch magazines which had lined the bottom of their care parcel. He was trying his best to ignore the pain but it was slowly coming back to a head, the painkiller in his system had completely gone. He wondered how many days it would be before the healer would grant him another dose.

_You know the deal. You know you have to get on with it. No point crying about it._

It was easy to tell himself that, but every time he moved his eyes watered.

He knew it was bad because he was actually tempted to message home and warn them of his impending arrival, because in England there were drugs in abundance, his ribs could be fixed in the blink of an eye, it wasn’t snowing or fucking freezing and he wouldn’t have to share the world’s tiniest living quarters with anyone.

It had to be bad for him to be considering putting himself in his mother’s clutches.

His jaw ached from gritting his teeth and his head pounded from being awake all night. 

_There are also sleeping draughts in England. Beautiful, free drugs. And food. And a bath. Oh god a bath._

He didn’t know that he’d moaned until Ron stirred beside him. He’d always thought that Ron could sleep through a hoarde of dragons rampaging through the house, like the rest of their brothers, but he always seemed so close to the surface. Maybe it was Romania. Maybe it was whatever had driven him out to the frozen reserve in the first place.

“You okay?” Ron blinked up at him, clearly concerned.  
“I’ve had enough,” Charlie admitted. He hung his head in defeat. “I think I need to go home, Ron.”

Ron looked like Charlie had kicked him in the balls.

“Oh. Right.” Ron propped himself up on one arm. “Well. You’ve got to do what’s right for you.”  
“Don’t look like that.” Charlie moaned and let his head fall back on the pillows. “I never could resist a pair of blue eyes begging me.”

“Sounds like there’s a story there.”  
“There is, but I’m not in the mood for sharing.”

_You’d never look at your older brothers in the same way ever again if I did._

As it usual when he thought about what had gone before and Bill, thousands of miles away with his wife, his chest started to hurt even more than it already did.

“I’m not in the mood for going home,” Ron answered honestly. He sat up properly.  
“What are you running from, Ron?” Charlie turned his head to look at him.  
“I don’t even know.” Ron shook his head. He looked helpless. “All I know is that I came here to get away from it all and if… if you’re going back, then I need to find somewhere else to hide.”

“I hear Hawaii’s nice,” Charlie offered sarcastically.  
“Well, maybe I’ll go there then.”  
“Don’t be daft. Think of the sunburn.”  
“Better than freezing my bollocks off here.”  
“Well then why did you come here?” Charlie asked hotly. The pain had scraped away at his temper and tolerance levels until they were both like raw, exposed nerves. “I didn’t ask you to come and mope around my cabin, Ron. You invited yourself.”

Ron blushed an ugly red and looked awkwardly down between them.

“I don’t know why,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

Immediately Charlie’s anger softened into pity. “Hey. It’s okay. Ron, look at me.”  
He met bloodshot eyes with what he hoped was kindness. “God. Come here.”  
“No, your ribs –“  
“I don’t care. I can’t see that look on your face without giving you a hug. It’s been that way ever since you were a toddler so it won’t bloody change now, will it? Come here.”

He braced himself for intense pain with the contact, but all Ron did was shift closer and cover one of Charlie’s hands with his own.

“I’m not a fucking doll, Ron.”  
“Well you’re as fragile as one. Don’t give me any shit, Charlie.”

Charlie pulled his fingers free from under Ron’s hand and, in the resultant struggle, ended up lacing their fingers together. Ron’s hands were long and slim compared to his chubby paw. The digits he gripped were clammy.

“We’ll stay,” he said softly. “We’ll manage.”

Ron opened his mouth to disagree, but something prevented him from voicing it. Relief, probably. He let his chin drop to his chest and Charlie was close enough to let his head roll to rest on Ron’s.

It should have occurred to him how intimately they were sitting, but if his mind tried to tell him he purposefully ignored it. The contact, after weeks of solitude, was glorious. He found himself inhaling the scent of Ron’s hair. He remembered it as sweet and powdery from childhood – what he smelt now was masculine and fresh. Warmth curled in the pit of his belly.

And he really should have seen what was coming, but as Ron looked up, and they were so close together, he just didn’t. Or didn’t want to.

He’d been there before. He’d felt the pain that what was going to happen brought – and he had enough pain in his life. But it didn’t stop him.

He closed the gap between their mouths and kissed Ron square on his, enjoying the rush in his blood of tasting another man. Tasting _this_ man. Ron.

Charlie ignored his body’s protests as he brought one arm up behind Ron and pulled him closer. Ron didn’t fight but was shaking. Charlie stroked with his thumb on something he thought might have been Ron’s shoulder. It provoked a moan which drove straight to his cock.

 _Again. Again. Again. Again. Again._ The word chanted on repeat in his mind; Charlie didn’t know whether he was chastising himself or whether he wanted to kiss more, over and over. 

Ron’s tongue swiped against his open lips and Charlie’s breath hitched in his throat.

_Again._

He wanted it again. More. Harder. Faster. Suddenly his mind was full of disgusting thoughts about his brother. A brother whom, in reality, he knew very little about. The years had separated them. They had to have for them to be kissing now. It wasn’t like Bill. Charlie still believed that had been written in their fates long before they’d drawn their first breaths. 

Something had been off between him and Ron since his arrival. Had this been it, the crackling tension which had led to where they were?

Ron’s fingers smoothed over his chest before fisting in the thickest Weasley Christmas Jumper he owned. Some of his chest hair caught in the yarn. Compared to the pain in his ribs it was beautiful. It had been a while since anybody had hurt him in a moment of passion.

He ran his fingers over the nape of Ron’s neck and sunk them into his hair, thick and wavy. He moulded them to his skull and held it in his palm. 

He’d not noticed that they’d slid beyond the chastity of closed-mouth kissing. His own tongue was exploring a new home, probing against teeth which were not his own. Ron was making the most compelling noise in the back of his throat; it sounded exactly the noise he’d made as he’d masturbated in his sleep. The memory of that sent Charlie from interested to rock hard and, despite his broken ribs and his invalid status, his hips rocked and Ron couldn’t miss it.

“Fuck!” Charlie choked out his cry of pain into Ron’s chest as his brother straddled his groin.  
“I’m sorry,” Ron whispered. “Shush. It’s going to be okay. Shush.” He peppered soft kisses over Charlie’s forehead.

“It’s been a really long time since anyone’s done that to me.”  
“Been a good while since I did it to anyone, either.”

Charlie didn’t need to put into words what he was asking as he looked up at Ron with his eyebrows raised.

“We’re not… we’re splitting up,” Ron said with a nervous gulp. “Well. That’s a lie. We’ve been sleeping in separate beds for at least a year and a half. And there’s no chance of it working out, because I don’t want her any more, and she doesn’t want me. I want more. She wants more. We’re just trying to figure out how to live without one another and I don’t know if I can. How can I live with someone who doesn’t love me like she used to? When I want… I want…”

“What do you want?” Charlie murmured, smoothing the palm of his hand down Ron’s front, over the waistband and onto the bulge in the fabric.

The moan was all the answer he needed along with the desperate pressure into his hand. But Ron went on.

“I need… I need to fuck.”  
“Oh?” Charlie set his hand to rubbing.  
“A man.”  
“Uh-huh.”  
He chewed into his lip. It was all wrong. So wrong.

But Charlie was a dab hand at wrong. It had never stopped him before.

“But who would want me?” Ron’s words were punctuated by gentle groans of delight as Charlie pleasured him.  
“I want you,” Charlie whispered.

He slipped his hand into the waistband of Ron’s pyjamas and shivered as his fingertips met coarse pubic hair. He kept going until he was able to take Ron in hand. Ron was still but his expression was twisted, a mixture of lust and disgust, but he did not move nor did he push Charlie’s hand away.

It was hard not to dribble, Charlie found, as he smelt the familiar musk which rose from Ron’s body as he angled his erection away from it. He pressed his free hand to Ron’s backside and pushed, forcing him up higher on his knees to the point where Charlie, still slumped on his sickbed pillows, had a direct line of mouth to his cock.

Ron was desperate. The shade of his dick told Charlie that. And he wasn’t sure how much further they’d get before one of them came to their senses and stopped it.

He captured the head in between his lips and touched the tip of his tongue delicately to the slit.  
He didn’t breathe in the seconds that followed – Ron bucked, pressing his cock hard into Charlie’s mouth. One hand held his head in place and, without any further encouragement, Ron fed him half of his erection and came with a longing, desperate moan onto Charlie’s tongue. It was thick and hot and everything Charlie had hoped it would be.

And the noises he made were utterly delicious.

Eventually he had to let go. He let the pillow take the weight of his head again and shyly looked up at Ron.

“I’m sorry.” Ron swallowed. “I thought I could…”  
“It’s fine.” Charlie tried to smile, but he was too dazed by what had just happened to really manage it.  
“Is it?” Ron asked tremulously.

“It is.” Charlie put his hands out to Ron’s hips. “It’s all going to be okay, Ron. I promise.”

* * *

**Ron**

_Idiot._

He squeezed his hand so tightly that his nails dug into his palm. It was so jolting to be back amongst the smells of his childhood and listening to his family fuss over Charlie as the long-lost son returning home.

“It’s so lovely that you’re going to be here for Christmas! And your birthday!”

Their mother was positively beside herself. Ron felt sick.

He’d hoped to hide in Romania long enough for Hermione to clear out of their flat. She’d offered to go and though he felt bad about it, the thought of having to hunt for another place to live, or, worse, moving back to the Burrow was just too much on top of everything else.

She was there. They’d shared a hug. A perfunctory kiss.

But it all seemed so fucking wrong knowing that the last person he’d kissed was his brother, and that they’d gone on to do much, much more. He could still feel Charlie’s lips around his cock. He could still feel the hardness of his brother’s erection in his palm. He knew the stickiness of Charlie’s come between his fingers. He remembered the taste even more vividly.

He both hated and longed for the memory of lying, naked, in bed, sated and actually happy for the first time in months.

And then reality had come knocking and there was no denying her.

They were home, back in England, where the past was waiting to strangle him and to separate him from the brief respite he’d found. Charlie couldn’t stay at the reserve in so much pain; it wouldn’t have been fair to keep his brother there. So Ron had arranged for a special Portkey using his Ministry contacts, packed up their scant belongings and taken them both home, all the way treating Charlie like a precious gem. They’d travelled together, pausing for a rest in Eastern France. They’d kissed briefly in the privacy of a public bathroom. 

Before he’d known it they were home.

“Ron.”

He started as she called his name. He tried to wipe the guilty look from his face as she approached.

“Let’s go for a walk,” she suggested. Hermione handed him his scarf and coat and Ron put them on. 

He let her guide him out into the yard and into the cold December afternoon.

“We have to tell them.”  
“Can’t we wait until after Christmas?”

“Do you really want to carry on like this for another two weeks?” Hermione stopped in front of him and turned to face him. “Because I don’t. I can’t, Ron. I can’t. I can’t do it any more. It’s festering. I know it. You know it. We have to tell them. Only then do we have any chance of moving on and… getting on with our lives.”

“I know.” He looked down at his feet. “I know.”  
“You don’t have to tell them that… you don’t have to tell them that you’re…”  
“Gay.”  
“Yes. That.”

“Can you do it for me?” he asked, with a weak attempt at humour.

Hermione glared at him and folded her arms over her chest. “Ron. I like to think I’ve been pretty accommodating. Understanding. Don’t make me deliver the news you’re not man enough to give yourself. News that changes everything I ever wanted for myself.”

Her pain cracked the last few words.

“I know. I’m useless. And pathetic.” Ron rubbed his face with his fingers. “I’m sorry.”  
“Stop apologising. This isn’t your fault.”  
“Most people would call getting drunk and kissing a stranger ‘my fault’ Hermione. I don’t need your pity free passes. I’ve made mistakes. I’ve apologised. I was honest.”  
“You’re not the only one who made mistakes, Ron. Who didn’t go after what they really wanted and settled for what was safe. We’re both guilty of that.”  
“And boy did you settle.” He shook his head. “Everyone always wondered why the fuck you bothered with me. Now they’re going to be proved right.”

He squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed.

“No. Now you’re going to walk in there with me, and prove yourself to be every bit as strong and brave as I know you are. Because it’s brave, Ron, to break away from everything you’ve known since you were eleven. We’ve been in each other’s pockets since then. That’s eighteen years, for Merlin’s sake. That doesn’t come easy. It won’t be easy. But we have to do it, because… well. You know why. And everyone we love that needs to hear this news is right there in this house. And we should do it now, because then it’s done. And my parents… my parents know. I’ve told them. I know I said we’d do it together… but when you went to Romania… it hit me hard. I had to turn to them, Ron. I needed support.”

“I… I told Charlie. For the same reason, really.”  
“I wondered.”

Ron took a deep breath and turned to look back at the house which he’d grown up in. Hermione slipped her hand into his.

“I didn’t think it was possible for you to look worse, but you do. Romania didn’t help like you thought it would?” she asked, as they set off back to the house.

“It made it worse.” Ron sighed. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

***  
Ron couldn’t help the way that his long fingers shook as he tried to smoke the cigarette he’d stolen. His nerves were completely shot and his eyes were red and sore. The family business was beyond agonising. If it hadn’t been for Hermione holding him up he was sure he wouldn’t have survived it, and without her now, alone in their flat, he knew he couldn’t keep up the pretence.

He was out on the balcony. They had a lot of money thanks to their war pensions and careers. Their home reflected that. It was a long way down to the street beneath his feet. He flicked some ash away into the air and took another drag. 

His knees were knocking. Ron hadn’t felt as drained or tragic for a long, long time. 

As soon as he could escape from the Burrow, he’d headed home, locked the door, blocked the Floo and let go. Properly. He’d forgotten how crying could cause an almighty gut ache if the sobs were hard enough.  
He leant over the balcony and looked down. Ron knew it was dangerous for him to be out there. That he was prone to depression and thoughts that were not healthy. That it was not normal to look over the balcony, as he had many a time, and wonder what it would be like if he just kept going. How much it would hurt when he hit the concrete below – or if it would be painless, quick? 

Alone and miserable, he knew he should walk away, lock the doors leading to the balcony and go to bed. That he should remove himself from the danger. Nothing good could come of him being out there and contemplating destructive ideas he really shouldn’t entertain. 

He felt stupid for going all the way to Romania only to add to his problems. What had happened with Charlie had been irrevocably foolish. Illegal. Repugnant, even.

And yet it had been so fucking good he’d fantasised about it every night since. Every hour, if he was honest with himself. 

“Fuck it.” He threw the cigarette over the balcony rail and watched it fall until his eyes could no longer make it out in the darkness.

He tightened his fingers on the rail which ran around the top of the glass barrier. He leant forward, pushing and daring himself inch by inch until he was practically doubled over thanks to his height. His head began to complain as blood rushed towards it. 

He uncurled the fingers of his right hand from the rail. The momentum was with his upper body. All he had to do was let go with the other and he would be gone. Falling to his death. Dead.

_What if you didn’t die? What if you just… bounced? Like Neville said he did when his Uncle hung him out of the window. Shit._

Ron lurched upright and took several deep breaths. His heart was pounding.

He had vague thoughts of lifting a leg to put it over the edge but in the end his legs actually gave way beneath him and he landed with a hard thump, his back pressed against the cold glass sheets which formed the balcony. Ron looked in at the flat he’d shared his life in for the past ten years. It was full of memories and arguments and happiness.

Maybe that was why he couldn’t bear to be in it. He was reminded of just how long it had been since he felt anything close to happy.

“Pathetic fuck.” He tried to laugh at himself, but in the end all that came out was a strangled moan.

* * *

**Charlie**

“Happy birthday!” Charlie hoped he received his mother’s over-the-top squeeze with a good-natured smile. It might have looked more like a grimace.

His recently mended ribs protested under the grip of her arms. 

With everything, he’d actually forgotten that heading back to England meant that he would be there for his birthday. His thirty-sixth birthday; one year closer to forty.

_And you’re still as alone as you were on your twenty-sixth and as horny as you were on your sixteenth._

He breathed a sigh of relief when she released him and turned to the cake sitting on a plate. It looked luscious, two thick layers of sponge squeezing jam and buttercream together. The top was dripping with thin sugar icing and coated in sprinkles. There were candles on it, just waiting to be lit.

Charlie would have been lying if he said the sight of it didn’t cause a little ache in his chest. He wouldn’t have had much of a birthday celebration if he’d stayed in Romania. A night off, an extra beer at dinner and whatever his mates could cobble together. If the reserve was on lockdown it might have been particularly grim.

There he sat, home in England, warm, mended and well-fed. They’d planned a small get together later in the evening. They were going to have dinner out as a family and then have some drinks. Charlie had put his foot down to stop their mum going over the top and stressing herself out preparing a huge meal.

It was a marked sign of the times that they could afford to go out instead of eating at home.  
Despite himself, he was looking forward to spending time with his family – especially his nieces. He’d not seen them in so long. Victoire was nine. The guilt that he hadn’t seen his goddaughters for two whole years rose in his throat and tried to strangle him.

_Well, that’ll be changed tonight._

“Do you want to blow your candles out now?” 

A warm hand stroked the top of his head. 

“Whenever’s good for you.”  
“You’re the birthday boy.”  
“Not exactly a boy anymore, mum.”  
“You’ll always be my boy.” Her arm went about his shoulders.

He’d noticed that since he’d got home, she’d been unable to stop touching him. She seemed to be going out of her way to find reasons to hug him, to stroke his hair, to hold his hand. He appreciated he wasn’t home very often, but it did seem excessive.

“What are your plans for your birthday?” she asked, sitting down next to him,  
Charlie shrugged. “Nowt really. Might contact some mates, see if they’re around… but it’s short notice. They’re probably all working.”  
“Well, what about your brothers then? Ron…?”

His name lingered in the air with uncertainty. None of them had seen Ron since their arrival from Romania, where he’d stood with mortified grace as, between them, he and Hermione had detailed the ending of their relationship. Charlie had watched him with increasing emotion, seeing the pain smattered over his littlest brother’s face as he made real to his family what he had been hiding for some time. Charlie had just wanted to hold him, to whisper to him that he was brave and strong and that he was proud of him for doing it.

But in the ensuing outpouring of support and emotion, Ron had slunk away from the Burrow and not made contact with anybody since. Charlie had tried the Floo and sent a Patronus message, but there had been no reply.

On top of his feelings of suffocation thanks to his mother’s constant attention, it was all undercut with worry as to why Ron was ignoring everyone. George had even been and knocked on his flat door. Charlie was getting to the end of his rope. If Ron didn’t make contact soon, he would force it.

He hoped he’d come to dinner and Charlie would be able to breathe again.

“I think I’ll go for a fly. I’ve not been up on a broom for bloody ages.”  
“As long as you’re careful.”  
“When am I anything but?”

She didn’t answer him, but laughed and shook her head.

***  
“Don’t tell your sister, but you’re my favourite.” Charlie kissed Dominique on the cheek and wrapped his arms around her. She giggled and bounced on his knees.

She smelt of crayons and sweets, probably because she’d spent the meal thus far colouring in the table cloth and stealing jelly spiders from George’s pockets when she wasn’t eating her neglected dinner.

He’d occupied himself with supervising her to try and ignore the fact that Ron had not shown up. He was itching to leave and seek him out. The memory of _the_ night in Romania was playing on his mind. When he swallowed he could feel the texture of Ron’s come sliding over his tongue.

He started with surprise as the end of the table broke out in laughter at something he’d missed. Dominique stopped working her crayon into the paper she’d been convinced to use instead of the fancy table linen to look at the perpetrators.

“She looks like you when she’s unimpressed,” Ginny teased Bill. “Same lower lip pout.”  
“I do not stick out my lower lip,” Bill protested. “I don’t.”  
“You all do,” Harry offered sheepishly. “You all look like one person when you get mad.” All heads swivelled in Molly’s direction.

She sniffed and took a rather big sip of wine. Laughter sounded again and, deciding she no longer cared, Dominique selected another crayon and resumed colouring.

“It does mean you can’t stay cross with us for long, mind,” George said. “Too cute to be angry with.”  
“Cute to a point,” Angelina said testily.

George nuzzled her cheek and put one hand to her stomach.

_Pregnant; not admitting it._

Angelina was lithe and willowy as she sat next to George, practically glowing. Ginny half-glared at her in desperate jealousy as she shifted her heavily pregnant body uncomfortably in her chair.

“You know what time it is?” George asked airily.

Nobody bothered to answer him.

“It’s time that we give Charlie his yearly talking to about why he’s not settled down yet.”

Charlie stuck his finger up where none of the children could see.

“Language.” George smirked and winked at him.  
“And on that note I leave,” Charlie said loudly.  
“No, you’re the birthday boy. We’re doing shots later.”  
“What are shots?” Dominique asked.  
“I’ll tell you when you’re older,” Charlie promised, and kissed the top of her head. He decided to seize the opportunity whilst he could. “But. I do need to just nip off for a bit.”

“Where are you going?” his dad asked shrewdly.  
Charlie foisted Dominique back to Bill and reached for his coat. His chest was achy and his shoulders were stiff.

“I’m going to try Ron,” Charlie confessed.  
“Want me to come with?” Harry asked. “I did try yesterday, but-”

“No I’ll be fine. I want to talk to him on my own. I think I can get him back into the land of the living. I’m going to try at the very least.”

He zipped up his coat and pulled his hair out from under the collar. 

“I’ll be back,” he promised. “I’ve been looking forward to those shots.”

He bent to kiss his mum on the cheek and clapped his dad on the shoulder and started weaving his way out of the restaurant. They favoured a homely, rustic place set back from the main hubbub of Diagon Alley. The food was good, the portions huge and nobody cared when they got inevitably rowdy.

As he pushed out into the lane, he found that the snow had followed them from Romania. Only tiny little flakes, but enough to give the air that still, cold quality that snow often brought. He looked once up and down the street and headed for one of the apparition points. It wasn’t far to Ron’s flat but he wasn’t sure that he could find it on foot and he didn’t want to waste any time.

When the time for meeting had come and gone, his nerves had started twanging like the strings of a badly played instrument. He had kept his eyes trained on the restaurant door, waiting to see his pale skin and red hair. He would have had to have stooped to avoid hitting his head.

Charlie turned into the spot and clutched his wand to his chest. It had been twenty years since his Apparition Test and he still hated the sensations which squeezed his organs as he travelled. His feet hit the pavement outside of Ron’s building with a force which caused his knees to buckle and he fell face-first into a wall.

“Graceful as ever,” he muttered, shivering in the breeze as he righted himself.

He slipped his wand up his sleeve and stepped out onto the main road. The main door to the flats was open, caught in the wind, which he was grateful for. He would have needed Ron to permit him entry at the very first and now that barrier was gone. He looked dubiously at the muggle lift and at the door which led to the stairs. It was getting late, he was full and had had a few drinks and he really didn’t want to jog up thirteen flights of stairs. He pressed the call button and waited until it clanked into place. He got in, pressed the button and shut his eyes. For all his bravery and his love of danger, something about lifts – magical or muggle – really wigged him out. He chewed into his bottom lip for something to do as he rose through the floors. He heard snatches of life as he went – a crying baby, a loud television, two people having a row.

Eventually the lift arrived with a soft ding and the doors slid open. He’d always been impressed by Ron and Hermione’s flat – situated in a sophisticated part of the city, huge, and with the best of magical and muggle worlds. Hermione had been unable to live without some touches of her childhood. Charlie wondered what would happen now that she had left – whether Ron would sell the flat and move elsewhere, or stay and make it wholly his own.

Charlie headed to the only door leading off the little lobby. They’d teased Ron mercilessly about his penthouse suite, but only half-heartedly. They’d never meant it. He raised his fist and knocked on the door. When no answer came he knocked harder.

“Ron? It’s me. Charlie. Open up and let me in. We need to talk.”

 _We need to fuck._ He tried to ignore the unhelpful suggestions from his brain. He kept his hand in a constant knock, eventually thudding against the wood hard enough to make the door shudder.

“Ron. Come on. This isn’t funny. Open the fucking door.”

He stopped knocking to listen. There was nothing.

With huff he stepped back and waited. Nothing. He raised his hand, his fingers splayed, and tried to tune into the wards which he knew were protecting the flat, invisible and undetectable to any Muggle senses. It wasn’t hard to find them, they were ten to the dozen on most wizarding houses following the war – nobody was used to feeling safe, and even if they were, they were too suspicious to trust that they were.

Most wards operated on magical signatures. Once the spell detected a magical pulse, it tested the make-up to see whether it was one of the occupants of the house – those whose magical signatures were laced into the spells when they were created. Ron’s house wouldn’t accept him merely because they were brothers, but there was a second element which helped – a password.

Ron had been using one thing as a password since he was a child, and though Charlie had often pointed out that it was unsafe and easily guessed, but he was grateful for it at that moment.

“Chudley.” Nothing happened. “Cannons.” Still nothing. “Chudley Cannons.”

He held his breath until he felt a slight breeze which came from no outside source. He heard the lock unlatch in the door and he opened it. The flat beyond was dark.

“Ron?” He slipped inside and kicked the door shut. “It’s me. Charlie. Where are you?”

He flipped a light switch and blinked in the sudden illumination. There was no response. He did a quick circuit of the flat, peering into the kitchen, bathroom, study and second bedroom. There was no answer to his calls nor any sight of Ron.

The main bedroom door stood ajar and Charlie headed for it without really believing Ron would be there. The air of the flat was stale and there were no immediate signs of life having recently inhabited it.

“Ron?” He tentatively put one hand up to the door and guided it open. There were clothes on the floor. He recognised the jumper that Ron had worn on the last leg of their journey from France. 

He raised his eyes to the bed but found it disappointingly empty.

“Fuck’s sake,” he groaned. “Where are you?!”

He stomped back to the centre of the living room and scrubbed his fingers over his face. He left them there, pulling at his cheeks and exposing more of his eyeballs to the air. He was preparing to give up, to return to the restaurant empty handed when the lock rattled behind him. The door swung open and Ron staggered through it.

“Where the hell have you been?”

Ron stared at him wearing a blank expression. He was holding a carrier bag in one hand and a bottle of something in the other.

“We’ve all been worried,” Charlie went on. “Sick. You could have just replied to my messages.”

Ron ignored him again and kicked the door shut in exactly the same way that Charlie had on entering. He dropped the bag at his feet and started on the cap of his bottle. It flashed in the downlighting from the ceiling. Charlie guessed muggle Vodka or Gin. He eyed the bag Ron had dropped. It was filled with boxes.

“What are you doing?”

Ron swigged from the bottle and threw the cap on the floor. “Drinking.”

“How long have you been drinking?”  
“Since I last saw you.”  
“Why?”  
“Because I fucked everything up. And I’ve been drinking like a fish to work up the balls to end it all so I never have to look at my ugly fucking mug ever again.”

He swayed slightly in his brash honesty. Charlie looked at him properly and saw the purple bruises around his eyes, the paleness of his skin and the general wreck he had become in a short amount of time.

“I tried to throw myself off the balcony. Couldn’t do it. Tried slashing my wrists. Didn’t work. So I was going the old overdose route… but I didn’t have any potions or poisons, so went to get some muggle tablets… Hermione told me once that one of her uncles killed himself by taking loads of tablets, so… that’s what I’m going to do.”

“If you think for a single second I’m going to leave you alone now you’ve told me that, you’re not only drunk, you’re thick and fucked up.”  
“I’m already that.” Ron laughed a dry, ugly laugh. “I’m fucked in the head. And I know it, and you know it, we all know it… and you know what? I’m even more fucked since you. Since… since that night. It’s all I can think about apart from how I’ve fucked my entire life up. The totally amazing sex I had with my _brother._ ”

Charlie watched as Ron kicked off his boots and picked up the bag again and went to his bedroom. He immediately sat on the bed and started pulling out box after box.

“Where did you get all these?” Charlie asked, wondering why anyone would sell someone so clearly unwell such a high amount of dangerous drugs.

“Different pharmacies. Did you know that there are at least seven pharmacies within walking distance of this flat? Two boxes is the legal limit at each, fourteen boxes. Dead me. Hurrah.”

“Ron, you don’t mean what you’re saying. Stop it. Let’s throw all those away and we can talk and you can try and get your head straight.”

Ron laughed again. “I don’t want to get my head straight. I never want to think again. Don’t you get it? I don’t want to think. Breathe. Remember every fucking second that I’ve not lived up to everyone’s expectations.”

“You live up to my expectations, just by being you.”

Ron had no answer for that, but started pulling out the little metallic sheets inside the cardboard boxes. He laid them in a meticulous row, making sure the edges were neat and perfectly aligned.

“Your wrists.” Charlie only noticed the barely-healed, jagged cuts on them when Ron reached out and his sleeves rode up. “Morgana’s tits, Ron, what’ve you done to yourself?”  
“Not enough.”

His tone was calm, even and completely unnerving. Charlie could tell that he’d been crying at some point but he seemed beyond it.  
“Well not on my fucking watch,” he swore hotly. “No. I won’t leave this flat. I won’t let you.”  
“Why? Because of what we did? Do you want to do it again?”  
“That’s totally irrelevant.”  
“Is it?”

Charlie stared at him, open-mouthed. “Are you saying you’re trying to do this because of what we did?”

“No. What happened was… amazing.”  
“Then don’t do this, Ron. We could… we could do it again.”  
“So every time I get a little bit suicidal you’ll come over and we’ll… we’ll keep on…”  
“We don’t have to. Please, Ron. Just…” He reached out and swept all of the metallic sheets towards him. “Stop. Stop it.”

Ron looked up and met his eye. Charlie was frightened by the complete absence of emotion in his brother’s expression.

“Please. Just stop it,” Charlie begged. “I can’t… I can’t even deal with the thought that you want to die, let alone that you might actually do it. My god… what if you’d done it and succeeded and none of us would have had a fucking clue… oh gods.”

He jumped to his feet, terror and emotion making his blood pound in his ears and his fingers shake. He clenched them into fists and paced around Ron’s bedroom.

“Charlie.” Ron’s tone was tranquil. “Calm down.” He took an almost belligerent swig of booze.

“Why should I? Would you, if this was me?” He rubbed his chest because pain was building there.

He stomped about the bedroom for a while longer before returning to the bed and sitting down in front of Ron.

“Whatever you’ve done, whatever regrets you have, Ron, none of them are worth taking your life over. Because this… this isn’t going to be forever. Please believe me.”  
“And when you go back to Romania, and I’m here alone faced with all of those regrets?”  
“I won’t go back; if you need me, I’ll stay. I’ll stay here for you.”

Ron didn’t look convinced. He kept Charlie’s gaze as he sucked another mouthful from his bottle.

“Or… if you wanted, you could come back with me. I could get you a proper job and we could… we could kick my roommate out and you could live with me… and we…”  
“Could continue whatever the fuck we started?”

“No. No. This isn’t about that, Ron. All I want is for you to be safe and well and alive. I don’t care if you never want to see me again – as long as you were…”

He trailed off, sick of how meaningless the words seemed as they came out of his mouth. He thought about what to do and knew what he’d do if it was anybody but his brother.

_And I can’t do that to him right now. I can’t._

Despite what he was telling himself, Charlie leant forward and pressed his lips to Ron’s. He brought his hands up to place them lightly on his brother’s shoulders before letting them wander, putting one around him and the other hand on his cheek. He stroked it. He sought to comfort. To convey his unconditional love and support.

“Please, Ron,” he whispered. “Please. I’ll do anything.”  
“No, Charlie.”  
“What d’you mean, no? No to me being here for you? No to me stopping you making a huge mistake?”  
“No to all of it. I want you to leave.”  
“So you can kill yourself in peace?”  
“Exactly.”

Charlie groaned and tipped his face into his hands.

“And what… what about what happened between us?”  
“A mistake. I think we both know that.”  
“A beautiful mistake, then. One which shouldn’t have felt so good but did. One which has been all I can think about since it happened.”  
“I can’t help you, Charlie.”  
“Just let me-”

“No. NO. **NO.** ”

Charlie lurched backwards as Ron jabbed his wand at him. His expression was terrifying.

“No.” Ron repeated the word over and over, until it became one long sound – until he was practically wailing it.

The wand fell and Charlie seized his chance by knocking it out of Ron’s hand onto the floor, and scooping his brother up into his arms and holding him close to his chest. He shook him slightly as Ron fought back.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said forcefully into Ron’s ear. “And you’d better bloody get used to the idea.”

* * *

**Ron**

“Are you ever going to forgive me?” Charlie asked quietly. His brother seemed to have aged. Ron saw some grey hairs.

“I don’t think so,” Ron responded with a shake of his head. 

He wanted to open his arms and let Charlie in. He wanted to forgive his brother and to share again with him the sort of intimacy they’d shared in Romania. He wanted to feel their lips together, to taste his mouth and kiss his skin. To be held by him.

“I won’t beg. But I’ll be here, every day. Until you’re better.”  
“Best settle in for a long old wait.” Ron had hoped to inject some humour into his tone; all that came out was flat and lifeless. How he felt. What he wished he was.

“Days. Months. Years. I’ll be here. For whatever... whatever you decide you want from me.”

Ron said nothing. Because he could see no point in patching up one gaping hole with something which could rip an even deeper one in his soul. He was practically keening for Charlie to have him, to take him in hand and love him. But it made no sense. Nothing good would come of it. Certainly nothing that he could deal with as his mind swum between barely coping and suicidal.

_Maybe one day._

_Maybe never._

_Maybe he’ll fall in love with someone else and I’ll never have to choose._

_Maybe I’ll fall in love with someone and forget about him._

_Maybe._

_Maybe…_

Ron swallowed. Charlie looked at him with gentle, begging eyes, despite his earlier proclamation. Brown eyes, flecked with amber, filled with love and concern. A pair of beautiful, reckless brown eyes.

He looked away.

_And maybe you give in, and you have each other, and fuck it all to hell._

He looked up and met Charlie's gaze. Breath caught in his throat.

_Maybe._

_-fin-_

**Author's Note:**

> [This fic is part of an ongoing fest. You may leave a comment here or on LIVEJOURNAL for the author to see.](http://hprarefest.livejournal.com/69697.html)


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